


Unnatural Desires

by rangerhitomi



Series: Prisoners of Fate [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: AU of an AU, Cultural homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Prisoners of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:10:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Prisoners of Fate AU] Prompt: Yuma grew up in the Dragoon Village with the Kamishiros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unnatural Desires

At ten years of age, Yuma had no remarkable skill with weaponry despite his somewhat late manifestation of the Gift. He wasn’t quite as fast as the other Dragoon boys, but he was good at evasion. And he tried. He tried hard in everything he did, even if he was annoying as hell while doing it.

Ryoga tried to avoid him as much as possible. The kid had taken an instant liking to Ryoga for some reason and always wanted to tag along –  _you’re so good at lances, Ryoga_ , he would gush,  _and I’ll never be as good as you at anything_  – and Rio and Mara both teased Ryoga about it.

“You should be glad at least one boy your age wants to be your friend.” And Mara and Rio would laugh, leaving Ryoga red-faced and angry.

But no matter how rude he was to Yuma, no matter how many times he told the boy to stay away from him because he didn’t want to be friends and he preferred being alone, Yuma never  _left_  him alone.

* * *

 By fourteen years of age, Yuma was still terrible at most weapons, but he was fixated on becoming a master of the sword. And he was… decent, Ryoga had to concede, and even though Rio kicked his ass in training, Yuma had a determined look in his eyes when he practiced, and he had a gentle – if not immature – smile on his face all the time and he still hadn’t given up on being friends with Ryoga. Ryoga started to tolerate Yuma’s presence more, but he told himself it was because Yuma was a bit quieter no matter how naïve and childish he was most of the time. And when Ryoga let Yuma come with him to stargaze late one night, Yuma fell asleep on his shoulder when Ryoga was in the middle of talking about some of the star placements. The night was chilly but Yuma… was warm.

* * *

 It was Yuma’s seventeenth birthday when he beat Ryoga for the first time.

He stared down at Ryoga, flat on his back, with the tip of his sword at Ryoga’s neck. There was surprise in his face – and Ryoga’s too, probably – as though he didn’t quite believe that he’d managed to pull it off.

“Um,” Yuma said in a quiet voice as the spectators to the ritual duel laughed and whispered and pointed at the two young men in the center of the village square. “Want some help up?”

Ryoga shook his head and rolled onto his knees, facing away from Yuma. It was embarrassing, losing in front of the village elders and their parents and a few dozen other Dragoons, and he could feel the heat in his face.

“Congratulations,” he muttered, not looking at Yuma, and he walked off so he wouldn’t have to see the same childish grin Yuma had always had plastered to his face.

He never turned around so he never saw the melancholy expression on Yuma’s face instead.

* * *

 Only a few months later, they kissed.

It wasn’t so much a kiss as an accident; they’d gone camping near the base of the mountains one late autumn evening and they’d started arguing about who was to start the fire and who was to collect dry wood from the forest floor and Yuma insisted that he was the better firestarter even though Ryoga was the one with the flint.

So they’d fought over the flint, Yuma had ended up on top of Ryoga, and Yuma’s sudden weight on Ryoga’s body caused him to fall back on the ground and Yuma sprawled on top of him.

This was all fine, because they  _had_ been wrestling for the flint and it was only natural that something like this might happen from regular roughhousing, but it was something else entirely when Yuma lost his balance and they ended up with their faces touching.

Their mouths touching, more precisely.

Yuma’s lips parted in surprise and he stammered an apology into Ryoga’s slightly open mouth and he tried to push himself away. It was successful, but only after Yuma’s hands and body had pressed against Ryoga in an effort to climb off, and Ryoga felt a burning in more than just his face that he knew, shamefully, was not entirely about the embarrassment this time.

* * *

 He found Yuma sitting by a creek, fishing pole in hand and a face covered in tear streaks. A quick glance around told Ryoga that Yuma had not actually baited the string attached to the pole, and therefore Yuma was not there with the intent to fish.

Ryoga sat next to him. Yuma turned his head and scooted away. This quiet, evasive behavior was very much unlike Yuma.

“What’s bothering you?”

Yuma’s mumbled “nothing” was entirely unconvincing. He wiped a hand across his face and busied himself checking the pole which, Ryoga noted, did not even have a barb attached to it.

“It pisses me off when you brood,” Ryoga said, failing to put any gruffness behind the words.

“Sorry,” Yuma said in a quiet voice.

“It pisses me off when you apologize needlessly, too.”

“Sor-” Yuma cut himself off and cleared his throat. They sat in silence for a long while. Some trout came to the surface and watched the two young Dragoons sitting on the bank before swimming off again.

Ryoga thought about taking the pole from Yuma’s hands and attaching bait and a barb to it so that Yuma could convincingly tell people that he had been fishing, especially since he always caught large trout in this stream. But just as he lifted his hand, Yuma spoke again.

“They told me I need to get married.”

Ryoga’s hand froze.

Yuma set the pole down, pulling his knees to his chest. “I don’t want to get married.”

“We have a… a duty, you know,” Ryoga found himself saying. “We don’t really have a choice in the matter…”

“I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d been born outside the clan.” Yuma glanced up at the treetops. The sky beyond was changing colors in wake of the sun setting.

“What’s bringing this on?” Ryoga looked over at Yuma, who looked thoroughly miserable. His nose was red, his eyes puffy. He’d been crying for a while, no doubt.

Yuma was quiet for a moment longer before he squeezed his eyes shut. “There’s something wrong with me.” His voice shook, and the shred of calmness in his face went with it.

Ryoga hesitated for a moment, heart breaking at the sight of the young man next to him before he reached out and pulled Yuma into an awkward half-hug. Yuma buried his face in Ryoga’s shoulder and they sat together for a while, until Yuma’s quiet sobs gave way to shuddered hiccups.

“Yuma,” he murmured into Yuma’s hair, “there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I think about things all the time.” Yuma’s voice was raspy. He sniffed. “It’s terrible, the things I dream about. If they knew, they’d… they’d… oh  _gods_. Oh gods, Ryoga, I can’t stay here-”

He pulled free of Ryoga and, abandoning his useless fishing pole, began to stagger away. He didn’t get far before Ryoga caught up to him and grabbed Yuma’s face in his hands. He could feel Yuma shaking as those bloodshot eyes looked everywhere but into Ryoga’s face; he could feel the gritty, warm tears, still fresh on Yuma’s face. Yuma’s hands went to Ryoga’s wrists and tried to pull them away.

“Yuma, he whispered, and suddenly he knew what was ailing Yuma. His heart clenched and he forced the lump in his throat down. “Thinking about something isn’t a sin.”

The other man shook his head and finally managed to rip himself free. “I won’t do it, I won’t let… I can’t. Please let me… let me go. Please let me keep a little bit of my honor. Every time I think about it, I… I want…  _please_ , Ryoga.”

Ryoga closed his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to speak as he heard Yuma’s footsteps crunching on the late autumn leaves, the sound getting quieter and quieter… until he heard Yuma no more.

* * *

 For two years, Ryoga regretted not going after Yuma. There were no letters, no mentions of him from the villagers after the initial three week search for the missing Dragoon. There was a memorial, held without a body –  _he would never return to our Mother’s arms if his body isn’t found_ , the elders muttered amongst themselves, but there was never a body – and then everyone in the village pretended he had never existed at all. But Ryoga wondered, every day, where Yuma had gone. He wondered what had become of his friend, the friend who had fallen in love with him despite their customs. To everyone else, including Yuma’s own family, Yuma was dead. But Ryoga wouldn’t believe that until he saw the body.

Mara shook him awake one morning, face creased in worry and eyes swimming with tears.  _This came for you from the Astral Kingdom,_  she whispered, holding a piece of yellowed, crinkled paper, and when Ryoga finished reading it, he crumpled it up again and stared expressionlessly at the wall.

_Ryoga,_

_If you read this, it means the Astral Guard has recovered my body. I have gone into the Sargasso Waste to search for something, a plant that is said to have poisoned and killed an entire village of Barians many years ago. I was successful, and I found it growing near the water source in a canyon just to the northeast of the remains of the village. But there were rumors that people trapped in the village after sunset never leave, because spirits of the villagers who died here are tied to the earth. And it seems I was not quick enough to leave in time, as the sunset is in a few minutes and I am at least half an hour from the entrance. In these last moments, I thought of you, and I wanted you to know what became of me._

_I left to free myself, and I don’t regret that at all. I will die at peace with myself, knowing that I did my best for my kingdom._

_Remember to kattobing, Ryoga._

_Yuma_

He turned to Mara, who gripped his hand. “Did they return his body?” He was surprised at how calm his voice was.

“Wasn't much of one to return.”

Ryoga nodded slowly and let Mara pull him to his feet. “Enough?” 

"Barely recognizable."

"Still." Ryoga looked down at the paper on the floor. "We should at least give him... some kind of burial."


End file.
